Thought.is

He said we should come back again as my head rested on his shoulder, and the train moved along the track, back to Long Island. Further and further away from our wintry weekend in the West Village.

Summer has me daydreaming about my childhood; lightening bugs that glow and sparklers that excite and amusement parks that feature crazy rides and log flumes and firecracker popsicles that drip down my mouth in the messiest of fashions.

Moving away from what was home for four years is jarring. A dynamic experience ends, because life says it’s time to move on. To graduate. Onto the ‘real world’ — emerging adulthood.

I remember the personal conversations. Our parallel lives. Those who were responsible for the empty spaces in our hearts.

I tend to romanticize beginnings. Beginnings are magic. They’re comprised of sentimentality and purpose and perfect timing.

Maybe if I appear bright, the sky will follow suit. All I want to do is look like April.

He had an artist’s temperament, she said. A creative mind.